Twittering the Day Away...

So I turned the corner into our neighborhood yesterday, and just as I was about to head up the hill toward our street, the car in front of me pulled over to the left, and an older Japanese gentleman in a tweed suit jumped out. I say jumped, because really, he about tumbled over himself in his rush to get out the door. As he crossed in front of me, bobbing his head as he went, I couldn't help wondering why he was in such a hurry. A split-second later, I knew the reason. You know it, too, don't you? Even if the spoiler title above didn't give it away, you know where this is headed. But you don't know where he was headed. Why, right to the small ditch on the other side of the road! He had to go, I assure you. I couldn't help noticing.

He didn't try to hide, not in the slightest. I wasn't exactly shocked, because male urination in Japan is often done basically out in the open. We laugh sometimes at the tiny concrete wall that is commonly erected right outside a door-less men's restroom in any outdoor venue, such as a public park or castle grounds. If you stand in one spot, directly behind the wall, and you don't move more than a few inches in either direction, you can't see what's going on in there. But if you're standing elsewhere or you happen to be walking by, expect to see too much, because you undoubtedly will.

Still, I had never seen "too much" while driving into our neighborhood, so this was new, in its own way. And funny, also in its own way. Because it's universal: we've all done the Pee-pee Dance.

Sorry I don't have a photo for this post, but that would be just--well, weird. And possibly illegal.

Now, for a look back at some more of our recent Hong Kong photos, this time all about one of my favorite topics--food! I think a couple of the market shots were taken by Second Child, who kindly (sometimes) loaned me his Fujifilm Finepix J10 for the photos I took, since most of the time I didn't end up lugging around our D80.

From that fabulous rocquefort-bacon burger at The Press Room to an eye-full in the street markets, from a piping-hot sweet egg tart on Macau to the mango soup that completed my dim sum birthday meal--we loved it all!

A Japanese lady--a complete stranger--hugged me last night. Husband and I were out walking while our kids were in their Japanese lessons nearby, when Husband suddenly veered off course into a tiny neighborhood store that had recently opened. I'd noticed it a few weeks back and mentioned to him that we should go in sometime, as it's a big day indeed when you spot anything in Japan with the word "thrift" on it.

The funny thing about our going in on this occasion is that we couldn't buy anything. For the month of January, we are entrenched in our annual (at a minimum) Extreme Thrift Mode, which unfortunately has nothing to do with thrift-ing. Here I was, at an actual thrift store, and I couldn't buy a thing. It just seemed so wrong. Since I had no purchasing power (seriously, none--I'd left my wallet in the car), I preferred to linger outside the store, picking through the plastic miso bowls, winter coats reeking of mothballs, and other meager offerings there, but Husband called me inside. Why? To look with him at the really cool stuff we couldn't buy!

While the display of items out front was typical of the kinds of things that can be found in a small, dusty thrift shop in the U.S., the indoor portion was more like a dusty antiques store. With only a cursory, resentful glance, I saw lots of kokeshi dolls in a cabinet, a great retro framed geisha print, and loads of pottery among the jam-packed wares. Husband spotted, and asked the papa-san about, a lovely antique chest of drawers, a Sendai-dansu, which, naturally, was a good deal for that type of thing but significantly more than what most people are willing to pay in a "thrift" store. And, of course, had it been cheap-o cheap we wouldn't have bought it anyway, while in Extreme Thrift Mode. We were a tease.

But the store proprietors knew nothing of our spending prohibition, so they encouraged us, saying "expensive, demo (but)..." about several items that caught Husband's discerning eye. While I was rounding a corner and the rather large mama-san was coming directly at me, the hug occurred--a split-second, simple reaching-out with one arm--just enough to pull me close to her momentarily as we passed en route to opposite sides of the store.

Did I imagine some intended affection, or was it a mere attempt to stay steady on her feet? I can't help but feel it's the former, though my experience with hugs from Japanese non-acquaintances had previously been exactly zero.

It was time to get back to our walk. Puzzled, but somehow filled with goodwill toward this woman who dared to flout social conventions, I promised we'd come back. Maybe in February, when "Extreme Thrift" may take on a different meaning entirely.

Recently Husband forwarded an email from his bosses detailing certain things in our community that might need to be brought to the attention of base personnel and their families. Among these mostly-mundane reminders was a request, of sorts, apparently based on complaints made by some Japanese citizens. It seems we are all being asked if we could kindly cut down on the "hooting and hollering" in Japanese neighborhoods in the late-evening.

When I read this, I felt almost reprimanded, though I have no reason to think I've been guilty of hooting and/or hollering. But then I had a thought: some of the hooting and hollering might, just
might, be coming from the mouths of Japanese nationals! I know, I
know--it's hard to believe that Americans may not always be the
culprits. We play the Whipping Boy often and quite well, thank you.

Sure--as a rule, Americans are louder and more boisterous than Japanese. Got that. And young guys in the military are certainly not known for being reserved when they go out together on a Saturday night. However, their revelry can seem small in the face of two looming features of a typical Japanese neighborhood: 1) Japanese kids taking a bath, and 2) Japanese spouses having an argument.

We have lived here long enough to know that Japanese kids are every bit as rowdy as, and often more than, their American or other Western counterparts. It's sometimes said that young Japanese children are allowed to run amok and even misbehave because it won't be long until they must fit themselves into a school system that demands compliance and reserve. When they play in the streets or bathe communally in the evenings, they can be nothing short of loud. And quite late the other night, just before a Japanese holiday the next day, I heard some neighborhood kids outside doing what can very precisely be termed hollering, though I didn't catch any hooting.

As for the parents, well--Japanese spouses can have some ear-splitting screaming matches that spill out into the streets. Though I don't hear them often, such incidents usually occur very late on the weekends, and crying may be involved. Though I understand almost none of what I hear, I assume that the wife is calling out the husband for his drunkenness, staying out too late, or some other vice. I have wondered several times whether someone would call the police, but the fighting generally dies down or heads indoors after ten minutes or so.

So, I have proof that hoots and hollers are not specific to Americans. And while I would not be able to produce a recording of said hoots and hollers in a court of law, I'm sure I've heard them--and I know pure, unaccented Japanese hooting and hollering when I hear it.

Have I mentioned how glad I was to get back to Japan after two weeks in Hong Kong? It's not that Hong Kong isn't a fabulous city (it is), not we didn't have a wonderful time (we did), and not that we wouldn't go back again (after all, we've been four times--why not another?). It's just that I got so tired of being knocked down. Okay, not quite--but almost.

There are seven million people living on this small island, plus a hefty number of visitors. That's a lot of folks crammed into a space that is something like one-quarter the size of Manhattan. And at any given moment in any part of town, a large number of them are ready and waiting to knock you flat--on sidewalks, in department stores, on escalators (!), on any square meter of flooring in subway stations, etc.

The entire city would seem to be a mishmash of harried business-people on a mission, aggressive speed-walkers looking to break land-speed records, and wiley senior citizens who don't care anymore that someone is in their way. Despite a comforting lack of violence in this city, the possibility of bodily harm is very real indeed should you, as Second Child did several times, choose to bend down in a public place to tie your shoe. Seriously, it made me very unhappy when he did this.

The notion of personal space just doesn't exist in this busy metropolis, or in other parts of China. This is hard for most Westerners to comprehend. Maybe I sound uptight, but honestly, why do so many people have to step on my heels? Does this help them get somewhere faster? Can I not stop to look in a shop window without being jostled repeatedly? And if you think I hate all of this, just try Husband, who dislikes being touched at all by strangers unless they are giving him a cut-rate full-body massage. The entire time, he was a serious case of Sidewalk Rage waiting to happen. Either people were in his way (too close!), or he was in theirs.

Irritation bubbled up and threatened to overflow as we stood waiting after our Macao day-trip to go through Customs en route back to Hong Kong. This un-peaceful mantra kept buzzing through my head: "I want you all to go away. I do not like you. Get out of my SPACE!" There were no lines to stand in; it was one big free-for-all, with people standing (too close!), and finally moving in a herd-like manner, nose to shoulder--or in poor Second Child's case, nose to bum-cheeks.

I guess that I just don't understand societies that find lining up (queuing) unnecessary. Do they enjoy stampedes?

And what about when they do queue? Try visiting a place of forced-queuing, like Disney, to find out what that's like. Many people are clearly not content unless they are fewer than three centimeters away from whoever is unlucky enough to be in front of them. Apparently standing on top of the next person makes the line go faster.

People who move to such places do learn to adjust, so I've heard. Even during our brief time in Hong Kong, we got pretty good at elbow-throwing, full-body blocks, and strategically-placed feet (I will trip you--just try me!). But there are attempts being made by the local government, I think, to encourage people to be "nicer" and not to be so harried and over-anxious that they send other subway patrons plunging down moving escalators like so many toppling dominoes.

Mind you, very little of this is done with malice aforethought. It's just the way things are. To those of us unaccustomed to it, it feels impolite, but to those who live it every day, it's just how you get by, literally, in a crowded place. Very few people (besides Westerners) seem to get bent out of shape.

As for me, I got out just in time--right as my own major case of Sidewalk Rage was looming. Perhaps you're wondering whether I hadn't noticed all this bumping and pushing on our other three visits. Oh, I had--but just as we women thankfully "forget" some of the pain of childbirth in order to consider the possibility of ever giving birth again, I had apparently blocked it out.

Architecture and interior design in Hong Kong tend toward the shiny and slick. I'm not a big fan of shiny and slick, and I'm certainly neither a modernist nor a minimalist--all of that just feels too sterile and lifeless to me. So, it can be hard for me to find an aesthetic to embrace in this bustling city of seven million. But sometimes it's possible to find a pretty interesting mix of old and new, and one of my favorite places to do this is along and around Hollywood Road.

These things interest me.

Now, this has nothing to do with Hong Kong--but because I enjoy the interplay of old and new as well as a vigorous mixing of textures, colors, and cultures, I appreciate the work of Wary Meyers Decorative Arts--and I see they have a book coming out later this year!

And while I'd never wish for a houseful of period-piece furniture from a sole era, (watch the movie Mon Oncle for a superb parodying of all that was brand-spanking-new in the '50s), I certainly would be happy to have a few iconic mid-century pieces here and there. I'd love an Eames chair and ottoman like the ones in the Wary-Meyers home in Maine, though I'd have a hard time fitting such items into our budget. But a purchase from Regency Shop wouldn't smart nearly so much, and these beautiful reproductions could find an eclectic, love-worn home. Happy shopping, anyone with any money left after the holiday season!

There isn't a lot of graffiti in Japan, at least not where we live. So while we were in Hong Kong, I took the opportunity to capture some colorful work, mostly in the Hollywood Road/mid-levels area, and some around the Peak. First Child, with her great awareness of patterns, continually spotted tags by the appropriately-named "busy b." I don't think any of these are his/hers, though.

Oh, the drama. Why did we have to choose this year, this time of year to plan a trip to Thailand? We'd been to Thailand before, but almost four years ago, so we figured it was time to go back--not only for some days in Bangkok, but for a week on the beach, something we city-vacation types really don't do so often.

Alas, it was not to be. The Thai government and thousands of protesters saw to that. Sure, the main drama is over now, but it made us more than a bit nervous to think of traveling with our children to a country that is operating quite basically without a working government, and with a whole lot of people who are still experiencing a certain amount of discontent.

Enter Plan B. After a whole bunch of careful consideration, time-consuming phone calls, and your basic run-of-the-mill hair-pulling-out, we changed our destination to Hong Kong. We've been there before, a few times, actually, but never for fourteen days. In fact, I don't think we've ever stayed in one city for fourteen days unless we lived there.

Don't think for a moment that I'm complaining. I'm looking forward to more exploring, more interesting photos, great dim sum, looking out our window at the harbour, Chinese tea shops, and the variety of other intriguing things a city like Hong Kong has to offer.